On Life and Love
by Girllovesrain
Summary: I am a unique, smart girl. And I am special. But there is so much I don't know, so much I haven't yet learned. Depression confused me, and made me lost. I have to relearn every inch of myself and find out even the simplest facts. Like, what my favorite color is. Or what I really love to do. There are more serious topics, like what love is. Or even what happiness is.


**This is a oneshot I was inspired by one of my blog posts!**

The petite girl rested in her chair as she mulled over the contents of her computer screen, spinning herself by kicking the side of her desk. A book sat in her desk, the title partially obscured by another gag manga resting in top of it, blocking every word but the first three: Give a Boy. Her long, golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail; wet, and sloppy- remainders of her shower soaking through her thin blue pajamas, leaving dark stains upon her shoulders. Her mother called from downstairs, telling her that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes, echoing up the stairs of the silent, and admittedly somewhat lonely house. But it was still a house nonetheless, one filled with the click of computer keys and the sizzle of the frying pan.

Rima stopped spinning. Meals were now only the two of them, a quiet and peaceful change from the solitary meal she used to eat, confined to the kitchen, screams and shouts from her parents her only company.

So Rima found she truly enjoyed these new dinners, her father off wherever he had left to after the divorce with his little blonde girlfriend. That was what had prompted her to start a blog in the first place; the divorce, the depression. After all, it's said that teens with depression tend to spend more and more time on the Internet.

Her fingers hovering above the keyboard, she quivered a bit. She had a truly tough decision to make. Should she add more depth, more life to the silly, superficial blog filled with pictures of her friends and happy comments on her gag manga? Should she tell the world what happened to her, what she felt after the world came crashing down on her shoulders, leaving dark stains much like her wet hair? Gathering up all of her courage, she clicked publish.

On Life and Love

By: RiMaShiro

This is a more serious post. An intensely private post that I hesitate to even upload. Today I read a book called "Give a Boy a Gun," dealing with different views and accounts of a real life shooting at a high school. There were two boys: Gary, the timid and sad boy who broke down halfway through the shooting and committed suicide, and Brendan: the dark, angry boy who brought out the desire to kill in Gary.

The two boys were bullied, and abused by the so called "jocks" at their high school. They discussed murder jokingly and lightheartedly with two of their other friends. Only it turns out, they were dead serious.

In every action, in every mention of death and hatred in Brendan I found terror. The bullying he received built up inside him, twisting his sense of reality and making him a bitter, resenting version of himself. His fascination with death was merely the beginning of my fear of him; no, what shocked me was that I had the very same qualities as this killer.

I have such a similar personality to him. Somewhat clever, never knowing when to stop. Tell me, if I were bullied and tormented like him, would I have snapped? Would I have done something like that? He wanted to die, and going out with a bang was a way to leave his mark upon the world, a footprint saying "I was here. I was intertwined in these people's lives in a way that would twist them forever." Oddly enough, I can understand that. That's exactly the way I feel. I can RELATE to this boy, so angry and sad. I've felt that way so many times in my life that maybe, I might be just like him. So if I had the conviction to kill and the motives, could I have done it as well? If I had done it, would I be evil?

I have a fear that I could be evil. That one day my depression will overwhelm me and I won't be able to recognize myself. That I'll change so completely and become the next Brendan. Because, I have thought about it. What teen hasn't? Please don't see me as a sick, twisted girl. It's just a nagging feeling in the back of my head.

You might be confused right now about this sad little story. How am I like Brendan? What changed me? I have a story and well. Nowhere as terrifying and grandiose, but still…just as lasting for me. It's a story, like Brendan's, that changed me from someone dumb and naive to who I am now.

I grew up in a sheltered home. My parents loved me immensely, and I was always their top priority. "Make Rima Happy!" was pretty much their motto, and you know what? I liked that. I was a spoiled brat. Well, that is, until I was kidnapped.

The terror of being caught, and struggling uselessly is something imprinted into my mind forever. Waking up in a dark, cold room is another. Tell me, do you think this would affected you? Because it sure as hell broke me. And unfortunately my parents as well.

Fights would break out between the two of them. They would scream, and throw things. Mom would accuse Dad of not caring about me, and he'd retort that he had work and was trying to support the family. It was a vicious, never ending cycle that I could barely stay afloat in. And soon even trying to do my homework over their tears and shouts became difficult, and sleeping was an impossibility. When I came to school I was perpetually tired, black bags under my eyes. I was no longer little Miss Perfect Rima Mashiro.

My grades suffered a slump. Without having parents there to help me, to give me advice on that tough math project or grammar on my English essay, I was lonely. I had no help, nobody to go to when I struggled. That is, until I found consolation in a boy at school. His name was Kirishma Fuyuki.

I told him everything. He was my shoulder to lean on, to cry on when I felt sad. When my parents were fighting I would hide under the warm covers of my bed and send him texts, and he would respond in turn with sweet messages that would make my day. He was cute, funny, and best of all he wasn't like all those stupid popular boys I had spent the rest of my time on. I wanted a change from all of the cookie cutter boys around, to find somebody real and deep who loved for personality and not looks or bragging rights. And I thought I found it in him.

We texted all the time. From 4 after school got out into 11 at night. I would always text him to start a conversation. At the time it never struck me as strange that he be never began our little talks, it was just a tradition. I would say hey, he would reply, and we'd be on our merry way. To be completely honest we never were friends until I came to school looking like a train wreck, a shell of the proud and proper girl I used to be. And again, that never bugged me. I though Kirishma liked me for who I really was. That continued for some time before I talked to the girl who had the locker next to me. Apparently he talked to her all the time as well, and they knew each other inside and of. She insisted adamantly that she knew him best because they were best friends. And, they texted every day from 4 to about 11 at night.

Thinking that maybe I wasn't special to him, I became nervous, and anxious, because you know what? I liked him by that point. As in, really liked him, maybe even love. So when I texted him that night I was down on myself, and insecure, he made me feel so much better just as he had done all those other times.

He told me that a year ago he had really liked me, and thought I was beautiful. I blushed. If he had liked me in the past, maybe I could make him fall in love with me again. That made me so happy, I completely forgot about that other girl and blissfully texted him around the clock, no questions asked.

Then the time came when I got my phone taken away. My parents were fighting again and my mom had finally snapped. She yelled at me about my grades and poor performance in school, calling me weak and useless. I thought I was going to die. I couldn't text him to find comfort, so desperately, I texted him on my other friend's phone.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I lived that type of lie with Kirishma, sweetly ignoring all of the little warning signs that could cause me to have my heart broken. I am an idiot for texting him on that other phone. But I don't regret it. If I hadn't texted him then, I would have lived for a long time thinking that I loved him and that he was "the one".

When I texted him, I mentioned myself. I hadn't yet told him that it was me on the phone, and not my friend. So when I hinted at his old crush on me, his reply was seared onto my mind.

"Oh I never really liked her. I just felt bad for her."

That really stung me. I had depended on him, I thought I had discovered what it meant to love for personality and not for looks. He was one of my best friends. So to find out that he pitied me was a feeling that I'll never forget.

Imagine that someone lied to you. Something that completely affected your world, your entire opinion about them. Then try to see that maybe everything that you loved about them could be a lie? If they were capable of lying about their feelings for you what else were they capable of?

That deeply affected my self esteem. Maybe others saw me as someone to be pitied as well. I became more introverted. I didn't stay on top of the latest gossip- perhaps someone out there was talking about me the same way I gossiped about them? I began to drop my more popular friends. And that marked the beginning of my depression.

There is so much more to this story, but it is so immensely private to me that I can't continue. I have had two "depressions" I guess you could call them, both in the winter. The first happened after this little story. It's summer now, and I am better. But what if I had lost control of my feelings after this? After all, I was like Brendan, what if this could have been the trigger to all of my anger? I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about suicide. At my lowest points I had seriously considered it. It terrifies me to think that maybe, had I been angry or sad enough, I might never have gotten this out of my head and onto this post.

I am a unique, smart girl. And I am special. But there is so much I don't know, so much I haven't yet learned. Depression confused me, and made me lost. I have to relearn every inch of myself and find out even the simplest facts. Like, what my favorite color is. Or what I really love to do. There are more serious topics, like what love is. Or even what happiness is. And contentment.

I have felt enough anger and tears to last the rest of my life. I want to leave that behind me and become something truly special, to define myself. Depression is not something I can easily pick myself back up from, but truly, if becoming like Brendan is my only other option, I will bleed and sweat and die before I would ever let that consume me.

**This is based off of my own experience. Thanks!**


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